


To Feel The Word Is Solid

by hariboo



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-10
Updated: 2010-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:58:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hariboo/pseuds/hariboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She can't sleep for nights after the nanites.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Feel The Word Is Solid

**Author's Note:**

> super thanks to [](http://little-giddy.livejournal.com/profile)[**kalesbohan**](http://little-giddy.livejournal.com/) for the beta and the help getting this started. (written for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/swficathon/profile)[**swficathon**](http://community.livejournal.com/swficathon/))

She can't sleep for nights after the nanites. It's not worrisome because she barely sleeps full nights anyways, but now she doesn't even get past two hours before she shoots straight up in her bed and walks around her room touching, touching, everything reminding herself it's real. It's real. _Real_.

One night, a week after she was pulled from her dream – _too real_ – world, she steps out of her room. She wants – _needs_ – to feel the city humming beneath her feet. It's moments like this she is bitter the gene never took with her. Still it doesn't stop her and she runs her fingers across the walls and decides to walk the city. Outside her room she stops short. John's there. Had she not been so shocked she might have wondered as to for how long. He looks at her, a slightly guilty look on his face and stumbles back a bit.

"Oh, hey Elizabeth." His voice carries the quiet tone awkwardly to her and she steps back too.

She pulls on the hem of her pyjama top. "John, is something wrong?" Tilting her head to the side she takes in his figure. He's tall and dark and _there_. She flashes to the shadow in her dream – she flashes to John. John, who led her out. She tugs on her top again.

He doesn't notice her preoccupation. "No, no, nothing. I was just – Elizabeth? What's wrong?" He is staring at her and steps slightly forwards. They're closer and even though Elizabeth is aware they've stood much closer than this – this is different. She is in her sleep clothes and John reminds her too much of her dreams.

She snaps her attention back to her second-in-command. "Nothing, just… Thank you, John." The words leave her without her permission and she's not sure why they feel wrong when they are true.

"Elizabeth?" He questions and pauses. "I mean you're welcome, you're welcome. What are you thanking me for?" He smiles and his eyes are flashing amused and embarrassed.

Elizabeth smiles. "For saving me."

The blush creeps across his face and she can see him shift his weight. He is looking at her – hazel eyes. Comforting eyes and she can't stop herself. This is John. He is real. Even when nothing else was, John was there – _real_. It takes half a second to cup his face and pull him closer, another half second to cover his lips with hers. She can feel the tension in his body – tight and taut – as he struggles for a second before his large, long fingered hands cup her face. The kiss is desperately deep and greedy and there is no thought behind it. She's taking, taking, taking. She needs to feel real. John is equally desperate, and it makes Elizabeth wonder in the back of her mind as to _why_. Why is he kissing her back so fiercely? Why are his hands gripping at her waist like she's a lifeline? She's thinking all these questions until John presses her again her doorframe and she feels his growing hardness against her lower stomach.

Gasping away she gives herself a little shake and looks into his eyes. Molten. His eyes aren't dark but molten. They burn her and she feels heat pooling to the area where his groin is pressing against her. She goes to move her mouth but she can't.

They say nothing as they stare at each other and Elizabeth is slightly aware of the fact that his hands are still gripping her and her own hands are lost in his hair, her arms secure around his neck. They don't blink or nod, they just move back into her room.

Inside he guides them to the bed, his lips already on her neck and she bends her body to him. His fingers splay on her sides and move up, up, up and under her shirt, bunching it as they go. A soft moan escapes her when they skim her breast and then he is back on her lips. His tongue is pushing its way into her mouth and coaxing her own to come play. To join his in whatever it is that they're starting. It readily does, and she not sure she's even controlling it. Everything about John is surrounding her, consuming her and god it feels so good.  Real. His hands push her top up, warm and heavy. His tongue is licking and stroking the inside of her mouth, and his teeth scraping against hers. He is everything real in her world and she wants it all. She pushes and grips and kisses and licks back.

When she feels the back of her knees hit her desk she realises they drifted in the wrong direction. Unless he plans for them to have sex on her desk, and really, the bolt of desire that the thought sends down her spine and into her groin isn't fair at all. Separating, Elizabeth breathes against his lips and nudges him towards her bed.

John drags her forward while at the same time slipping off her shirt, "No desk sex?" His voice is rough, not as amused as his words would want it to be and his eyes are taking in the exposed skin, but there this is John and she knows she is supposed to smile. She does and pulls off his shirt. Her fingers brush lightly on the fine hairs and collarbone she finds. Keeping her eyes on his as best she can, she goes and licks a long wet line across his left clavicle. He wastes no time in bringing her flush against him and their lips meet open and ready.

"No desk sex." She breathes into his mouth, desk sex is meant to be quick and just desk sex. The type of sex you have after a long day and can't be bothered to make it a bed. No, she doesn't want desk sex, she wants to feel, see, touch, smell, taste John all around her. All over her. Consuming her.

When they make it to the bed she's very glad for the fact that it is so late because as John toes of his trainers, and she tugs on his pants glad that they don't have to worry about regulation boots – they would take too long. She crawls backwards on the bed and he follows her, hands pushing pyjama pants down and drifting up thighs. Her own hands slide up his rib cage and her heels push his pants and boxers down the rest of the way. He shivers when her instep gets too close to his ass and he lowers himself on his forearms to cup her face and kiss her. She wraps her arm under his armpits and across his back, kissing back.

They kiss and their bodies slide against each other. John's lips leave her and make their way down her throat, his hands moving over her body and thumbing the waistband of her underwear. He stops the attention he is giving to her throat and lifts his head. He looks into her eyes and she knows what coming. Their eyes don't leave each other as his finger slips inside her and thumb does something that makes her hips arch and her head fall back into her pillows. He pushes a second finger in and her eyes close. They curl inside her and her mouth drops open.

Breathing heavily, Elizabeth realises she hasn't felt like this in a long time. Like a woman. Just a woman. Who _wants_. And she likes it. She rolls her hips into John's hand and when he hits that spot just so, just _right_, her eyes snap to his and she shatters. Part of her catalogues that she hasn't come this hard since the French attaché in Moscow.

John's lips are then everywhere – neck, breast, stomach – and his hands follow suit. Her own lips try and touch as much skin available to them, her hands pulling him up for a kiss and he rids her of her underwear and kisses the inside of her left thigh as he does so. When he moves to cover her they breathe in tandem and suddenly he looks shy and very frustrated.

"Elizabeth, I don't... I didn't plan this. I." He goes to kneel back, a hand through his hair spikes it up even more and with a grin she pulls her self up a little to pull him back down.

She kisses him and fingers his ears, tracing their shape. "I'm on the shots."

He blinks and looks too adorable for words before lust regains home in his eyes and his lips smash against hers. He settles between her parted thighs and cups her bottom to angle it to his groin. Elizabeth shifts a little and wraps her legs around his hips. With one hand he holds her in place and moves forward to lean over her, his other arm propping him up.

He doesn't kiss her as he moves inside her. He only holds himself up on his forearm and looks at her. Into her. She grips on his shoulder and clenches around him and John groans at the arching of her hips, but he is still, steady and hard inside her when she comes back to herself and that's when he thrusts again. The movement is fast, faster than she had thought it would be and it's such a turn on that Elizabeth's orgasm hits her faster than she expected. Elizabeth breathes heavily, not really caring that she probably needs a couple more minutes and rolls her hips to meet the deep thrusts.

Turning his face towards her and pulling him into a deep kiss their tongues mimic the actions of their bodies. John moves faster into her and her legs tighten around him. He pushes her body deeper into the bed and the hand cupping her ass changes the angle allowing for two matching groans to leave their barely parted lips as he pushes in deeper.

The kiss is less tongues and more heavy breaths. John pants heavily and Elizabeth can feel his body tightening over her, she moves to grip his ass as he slams into her and takes his swollen bottom lip in a sucking kiss and bites, hard. The stumbling in John's pace and low groan, her name, that escapes his lips make her feel the most genuine she has in ages. He keeps thrusting into her a couple more times and then surprises her when she feels his hand between their bodies. He covers her nipple with his panting mouth and presses fingers against her once again, and she is sure his eyes are smirking at her when she comes once more.

But that's not the only surprise John has for her because as he drops onto her body for a couple of seconds and she swears she feels him press a soft kiss to her shoulder. Elizabeth closes her eyes at what that brings up in her. He moves off and lies beside her. Their shallow breaths as they come down are the only sounds in the room, too heavy with the smell of sex, of John, of her.

After as they lay sweaty and exhausted, Elizabeth feels every muscle in her body. Neither are touching. There is about an inch of space between them and she can't make herself cross it. She wonders why he doesn't either. This was too much, too fast, too right, but not right enough.  There is too much awareness in this moment and neither wants to face it. Not ready. Too scared.

So they just lay and then John exhales, running a hand through his hair.

"I should leave, should I?" He asks, his voice too quiet and blending too easily with the surrounding darkness.  Elizabeth turns her head to face him. _He_ blends too easily, _fits_ too easily, with the shadows of her room and she feels herself nod. Her head always did rule her.

"It would be the smart thing."

"The smart thing." He questions in a statement, but he's already getting up and searching for his clothes. Elizabeth watches as the lights in her room turn slightly on, and it takes a full five seconds to realize it's John. John and Atlantis. There are suddenly too many words in her throat and she can't seem to push any of them of them out. He is by the door, belt still unbuckled when she manages one word.

"John…"

He turns back at the door and their eyes meet. Too much and not enough passes between them. He only sighs and the door opens. "It's okay, Elizabeth. This – we're okay."

She nods. He nods. And he leaves.

She has the childish urge to rush to the door and press herself against, hoping, wishing that he is doing the same, but she stays in her bed. Laying down back in her bed, naked and wrapped in sheets that still smell of John and sex and sweat and standard issue laundry detergent, Elizabeth presses the palms of her hand to her face. She suddenly feels too real.

The following days are awkward but not because they don't acknowledge the fact that they slept with each other, but because they do. In every meeting, in every unconscious touch – they now realise just how much they unconsciously touched before. In every smile, moment, minute, second they are aware of what they did.  There is more tension, more glances and more quiet between them. Before they could hide under the sheen that they weren't aware. That they just didn't know. But not now. Now they know all too well.

And they still haven't spoken about it.

Elizabeth still smiles at John, wider when she thinks no one notices. She still stands too close.

John still looks at her with those eyes, especially when he knows she's looking at him. He still comes by the office too often for official business.

They do every thing the same, just with the knowledge that Elizabeth also smiles like that when he nibbled on her thigh and that the look he gives is all to similar to how he looked at her when she arched over him. So she smiles more, like _that_. And he looks at her, like _that_.

Nothing has changed, except it has. And they don't talk about it, just let it simmer and settle over them.

The day that she can't handle it any more – the day the unwatched pot finally seems to boil over – and she just wants out of this limbo that's not so much a limbo but a pause. A long note until the next tempo change is the day that John is set to test the gate bridge. She doesn't know why she feels the need to confront this today. Maybe it's because she knows she won't see him the next day and she'll have to time to process and collect her thoughts, his reactions, her reactions. She's sure she'll need the time and so she doesn't stop herself when she finds a hidden moment with John as he prepares to leave.

He's standing by the Jumper and hearing her approach he turns and meets her eyes. Hazel gently takes her in and soothes her. She breathes. "John."

"Come to wish me luck?"

Stepping forward she falls into their banter – their way – too easily. "Yes. Though according to Rodney you won't be needing it. His work is perfect."

He smiles at the tease in her voice and tilts his head, "Right, of course it is."

There is a moment where her brain tells her to quip back but she squashes it and, "John, I… I mean we…"

Now it is him who steps closer and grips her clasped hands, which she hadn't even noticed were slightly shaking. He grins, softly and with just the touch of 'fly boy', "When I get back we'll talk."

Elizabeth nods and gives a small smile, for she understands that he knew what she was trying to say and that he's been trying to say the same things. "Okay. When you get back." Nodding she meets his eyes and drops her hands as she moves back. He does the same. Rodney then steps in and with one last look they separate as she makes her way to the control room and he makes his way to the Jumper.

She watches him leave through the gate and nods to Chuck before she heads to her meeting with the anthropology department. She's aware that a shift has begun.

Then everything changes. Again. The Ancients – Alterrans – come.

 

_Six weeks later_

Elizabeth can't sleep for nights after they return to Earth because of Earth itself. It's too hot during the day, too cold during the night; the mountains make her feel claustrophobic, her apartment even more so – ironically, she barely leaves it.

She gets calls every day, she never answers the phone though. They accumulate on her machine, day after day until she needs to delete them. Carson's voice is always soft and sweet and makes her want to cry. Rodney's voice is sharp and loud and then at times inexplicably sad, though he tries to hide it. It makes her smile and then curl into her pillow. Then there is John's voice. It's quiet and gentle and rough towards the end of the calls and it does everything from make her want to cry to want to press her fingers to herself. But they are all just reminders of what has been lost. What is no longer hers. _They_ are no longer hers, so she deletes the messages.

Still out of all the messages deleted on her machine Elizabeth never deletes John's because now, when nothing is between them, this the closest she can make herself get.

Just as his last message finishes playing Elizabeth hears knocking at her door. She stiffens on her couch and doesn't dare get up when she hears Carson's voice. Elizabeth sighs and tells herself that what she feels is not disappointment.


End file.
